


crossing wands and golden sparks

by a_prouvaire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, beauxbâtons!AU, enjolras!veela, jehan prouvaire!veela, pairings and characters will be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-21 06:33:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30017589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_prouvaire/pseuds/a_prouvaire
Summary: [Beauxbâtons!AU]It's hard enough to be a part-veela in France during the 1960s — prejudice and hidden family secrets. But what if a nine-year-old social awkward veela attended Beauxbatons along with their cousin of the same kind? Enjolras explores his own fate, finding friends and enemies along the way, trying to determine how the world outside of his family works. What if everything his mother had ever said to him was wrong? Or what if it turned out to be right?The story covers 9 years of Enjolras and Les Amis attending a French-wizarding school, Beauxbatons. The world is based on the Harry Potter series but with some changes of the school life and system, since I didn't want it to be based entirely on Hogwarts. Also, known information about magical France from wizardingworld.com and Harry Potter Wiki is included.
Kudos: 1





	1. 1961 — BONACCORD AND MALECRIT

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Since we know very little about Beauxbatons from books and JKR's comments, I took responsibility to invent a system myself. You will find out about it while reading as I tried to explain everything from Enjolras' perspective or in the notes at the end of each chapter. Also, I already have a lot of materials as for example their family trees, picture references, and a lot of inside information. Though I did find everything possible about magical France online and included it. There are 180 chapters and 9 years. I cannot promise to publish them all fast, but I will certainly try as I am excited to start a new journey! Join me and enjoy!
> 
> P. S. All of the characters will appear in the story, gradually. Some of them are younger than the Triumvirat, so they won't be there until Enjolras's second or third year of school.

The feeling of nervousness was so overwhelming that Enjolras could not think straight. As long as he had remembered it would never appear before. There was tension, restlessness, and agitation, but being nervous was something completely new for him. He even saw it as a weakness of some sort. And being weak was a sin in his family.

He looked up at his mother who was graciously walking by his side. A tall, fierce-looking woman in a lavender gown brushing her ankles. She styled her blond curly hair in a pristine old-fashioned updo, unlike the messy bun Enjolras had most of the time. Her eyes were icy and a little bit haughty, the feature Enjolras also had but sometimes it appeared to be empty and distant. As though he was trying to hide his genuine emotions behind a shield that he pulled to protect his inner self from the outer world.

Had she ever felt nervous, his stern and contemptuous mother? She was not a woman who would express her emotions much. Enjolras was not even sure that her face had enough mimics.

“The wand would be the last thing we need today,” Madame Enjolras looked down at the lengthy parchment she held in her hands as though it was an everyday routine to buy supplies for the first school year, not a big event. “I have already ordered one, we just need to pick it up.”

“Ordered?” Enjolras furrowed his eyebrows a bit. “Isn’t there a process of a wand choosing a wizard? Shouldn’t it be more…”

He could never end his sentence. Madame Enjolras quickly snapped her fingers, a gesture she used to tone her son down.

“It’s the core that matters. Your grandmother gave her hair to be in your wand, and you should be eternally grateful to her for that, boy”

“Yes, Ma’am”

Enjolras hated the fact he couldn’t confront his parents in any way. His upbringing carved some values on the back of his brain and he doubted he could ever break them. It was stinging and itching but he was never brave enough to disobey.

In order to distract himself from grievous thoughts, he started looking around. Place Cachée, the only magic place in Paris, was awfully overcrowded at the end of September, the last days before the start of the term. There were young-looking wizards with their parents, teenager groups, and even older witches and wizards who had bad luck or not enough common sense to come here during the peak days. Owls were howling, cats were meowing, and merchants were getting out of their way to sell their goods.

“Ten bezants for an ever-lasting cauldron. Never breaks, never explodes,” a wizard in an old, patched robe was shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Mine just exploded last week,” a bald man commented to his son while passing by. “Never trust a street seller!”

“It’s just our bad luck, papa. Just bad luck,” the young boy, probably the same age as Enjolras, shrugged and smiled shyly when met Enjolras’s inquiring look.

_Snap._

“Don’t gaze at strangers,” Madame Enjolras hissed under her breath. “Don’t meet their eyes.”

“Yes, ma’am” Enjolras pressed his lips into a thin white line, immediately looking down at the ground.

“Papa, are they veela?” he heard the boy whispering almost excitedly behind his back and clutched a strap of his schoolbag tighter.

Finally, they reached the wand shop. It was not Cosme Acajor shop, the one where almost every French wizard would buy his wand, as Enjolras expected. An ancient slim building squeezed between Monsieur Sanfin Chaudrons shop and a pharmacy, visibly past its prime. The heavy metal door seemed as though it was protecting a bank, not a wand manufacturer. Although wands can be even more valuable than gold sometimes, Enjolras thought but did not share his conclusion with his mother who was already opening a door letting him in first.

“Ah, Madame Enjolras, what a pleasure,” a short middle-aged man beamed at his visitors from the counter.

“Monsieur Delacour,” Madame Enjolras nodded politely. Enjolras offered a strained smile.

“And this young man must be your lucky son!” Monsieur Delacour continued, his piercing blue eyes examining Enjolras as though he was one of the rare species.

The sensation made him feel like he was put under a magnifying glass, but he pretended not to notice straightening his back and glaring around the shop. There were numerous shelves, right to the ceiling and deep into the shop, each contained a thin leather box with a wand inside. Some had initials written on it, and Enjolras wondered what it could mean. Were they also made as a special order? There was a belief among the wizards that to choose your wand, you need to pass through a mildly sacred ritual. You take a wand, and it makes its own decision. The behavior of magical artifacts can be rather different. He even heard that one of his distant uncles from England ruined half of the shop when a wandmaker offered him a wand made of oak and a dragon heartstring.

“Here’s your order,” the wandmaker reached under his counter and offered Madame Enjolras a thin fair leather box. Enjolras came closer to look into it, and once Delacour opened it, he gasped.

He didn’t know how precise his mother had been about her order, but the wand was made excessively detailed, too much for Enjolras’ liking. He preferred more ordinary and plain things. This wand shouted noble and veela. A fair-colored wood, probably rosewood, with root-alike strings and silver leaves intertwining along the length.

“Belgian rosewood of the best quality and your mother’s hair, Madame Enjolras. 12 inches, flexible, and immensely powerful. My own granddaughter has one of those, my wife gave her hair as well…”

Monsieur Delacour kept proceeding about his own family, but Enjolras couldn’t concentrate on any of his words. He inhaled deeply trying not to express his genuine emotions, which was anger slightly covered with disappointment.

“Isn’t it majestic?” Madame Enjolras let herself a smile, which looked strange on her hawk-like face, but Enjolras didn’t answer. He reached forward, slightly touching the wand. His fingers wrapped around the handle cautiously as though it could explode any moment. However, all he felt when the wand lied in his hand was the sensation of overwhelming warmth and belonging. It made the situation even worse. Enjolras could expect that it would react less lenient, and he might have had a chance to choose the wand less pretentious.

“Try to perform a spell, Monsieur,” the wandmaker asked impatiently, visibly pleased with his work.

“Accio,” Enjolras pointed the wand at one of the leather boxes and waved it. It gracefully flew from its shelf and landed into his hand.

“Wonderful,” Monsieur Delacour clapped as though he had never seen a boy performing an accio before. “Your grandmother would certainly be proud and pleased that she helped to make this wand and put influence on your bright future as a wizard, Monsieur!”

Enjolras nodded absent-mindedly, his look lingering on all the boxes around him.

“How much would it be?” Madame Enjolras asked not even remotely amused by the performance.

“A hundred bezants, Madame, as agreed”

Enjolras’ eyes widened at the extremely high price, and his heart thumped. There were not a lot of things worse than being a creature that every wizard adored and despised at the same time, but one would compete — being obscenely rich and showing off every step of the way.

***

While packing for his departure to school, Enjolras decided to hide his wand as far in his trunk as possible. He still dreaded the moment when he would be asked to use it in front of his class. His relationship with peers was far from ideal enough to bring even more controversy to his personality. They despised him, and he still didn’t come to find out a reason. His heritage was an obvious one, of course. However, it should not have been a big deal since his mother had more veela blood in her veins, and nobody had the audacity to use it against her.

“She must be too frightening for them not to agree with her,” he mumbled to himself under his breath, unfolding a lavender school robe and putting it on.

“That’s not the way you are talking about Madame Enjolras, cousin,” the voice came from behind his back, and Enjolras startled a bit, turning around. The door to his room was now opened, and in its frame stood a young red-haired boy of his age, swirling his own wand — plain and simple — in his fingers.

“Good morning to you too, Jehan,” hummed Enjolras not being able to tear his eyes from the wand. “I see you got your admission present from our grandma too?”

“Couldn’t evade it. Seems like our family decided to make our heritage obvious to everyone looking,” Jehan plopped on a perfectly made bed attentively glaring at his cousin. “Show me yours?”

“No,” Enjolras declined firmly. Jehan’s brow arched.

“Why is that?”

“I am not planning to use it anyway. Probably will order one by myself once we arrive at Beauxbatons,” Enjolras closed his trunk and sat on the top, running his fingers through his blond curly hair which was a complete mess again.

“I see Aunt’s gone too far then?” Prouvaire grinned.

“Do tell.”

“You won’t believe which way they choose for us to travel,” Prouvaire rolled his eyes, changing the topic lightly and twirling his hair around the wand mindlessly.

“A wing-horsed carriage?”

“Floo Powder.”

“Why?” Enjolras furrowed. His mother would usually choose to show off her wealth at any possible moment. Such a ‘mundane’ way as Floo Powder was far from her style.

“Afraid of us charming everyone around, I believe,” Jehan shrugged and unwhirled his hair, making a perfect curl.

“At least we are not home-schooled as Delacours.”

“Don’t give her an idea. I am dying to meet anyone of my age but you. No offense.”

“None was taken.”

***

Enjolras had thought that traveling by floo powder would end up as them arriving earlier than all other students but he was wrong. As Beauxbatons admitted students all over Europe — Spain, Italy, Portugal, the Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg — most of them were not transported by carriages. They used portal keys. Once Enjolras and Jehan stepped out of the fireplace on the old worn but still beautifully made carpet, they were greeted by more than a hundred students already in their lavender robes, excitedly chatting and laughing around the hall. And even more were arriving every ten seconds accompanied by loud crackling sounds.

“They should be more cautious, you know,” Jehan whispered. “I heard from Uncle George that sometimes portkeys are not extremely accurate. One or two meters and…”

He didn’t have a chance to conclude as the shriek from outside alarmed them, and they both craned their necks to see what was happening. Two boys — one with a trunk in his hand above the other on the ground — supposedly crashed into each other while portkeying, and now it was a mess of hands, legs, and constant sorry-s.

“Exactly what I was saying,” Jehan chuckled slightly but Enjolras didn’t answer taking a chance to look around himself and recognize a place.

He had been here once, in his early childhood, as his mother brought him to the grand alumni meeting. However, the surroundings were exactly as enormous and almost surreal as he remembered them. The ceiling of the hall they landed in was as high as the sky, the hall itself was rounded and full of sunlight. Tall stained-glass windows met the ground, and the marble tiles under his feet each had a Beauxbatons’ coat of arms — a shield surrounded by golden lines with two gold wands on the top. The fireplace they were traveling by wasn’t the only one, there were five more. Over each one hung an enormous portrait.

Six witches and wizards. Most of them had quite arrogant appearances patronizingly glaring at the coming students who seemed not to pay them any attention. Except for one ginger boy animatedly talking to the portrait of an old round-faced wizard with a broom in one hand and an eagle feather quill in another. Enjolras himself met eyes with a statuesque middle-aged witch dressed in the 17th century’s gown. Her silver blond hair was hanging down her shoulders, and her piercing icy blue eyes were seemed to gaze right into Enjolras.

“Do you seem a resemblance with Madame Delacour?” Jehan whispered into his ear.

“It must be Amelie, she has a dormitory named after her.”

“I start understanding why we have such an effect on other people. She looks ethereal.”

Enjolras stepped forward a bit to see what was outside again, and it came out to be breathtaking. Far away, on the horizontal line, their tops covered with clouds a ridge of mountains could be seen, protecting a castle from the outer world as a shield. At the foot was a thin line of firtree forest, it seemed pretty artificial as though space between trees was thoroughly measured, and each tree took the exact place it was supposed to grow from. Enjolras could see something or someone moving there. Centaurs, he wondered, or wood nymphs. Though he doubted that such independent creatures would live among the forest which was neither deep nor wild enough.

Then the classical French garden was starting, the same magnificent kind as could be seen in Versailles, the former muggle’s king residence. There were labyrinths of well-maintained walking paths, fountains with high water strings sparkling in the sunlight and golden statues around them, an excessive amount of bright and colorful flowers, which despite the autumn were still blooming. And it all ended in a wide bricked square with a lot of white-colored benches, a fountain of Nicholas and Perenella Flamel in the middle. Their statues heightened above the sea of students who were still arriving one by one, being greeted, and hugged.

“I definitely would fight anyone if they had an idea to homeschool us,” he heard an astounding whisper behind his back, and it was soothing to know that Jehan felt the same. A huge number of students made Enjolras feel nervous again, once he acknowledged them after the spectacular landscape.

“How do you think, would our mothers forgive us if we don’t return home for Christmas?” Enjolras wondered to distract himself. “It must be much quieter here during holidays.”

“Oh, Enj, your old introvert self. I bet I can make you socialize more than ever in your life.”

“You bet?” hummed Enjolras.

“Do you remember the value of the first year? Participation. So, who wouldn’t want to get an aquamarine stripe on their robes?”

“Me.”

***

While waiting for all the students to arrive, Enjolras and Jehan took one of the benches, their trunks by their feet. The older students had already departed to their respected dormitories, and only first-year ones remained to wait for the headmaster. Some of them had already managed to make friends chatting excitedly and joking around. Jehan was also engaged in a vivid conversation with a curly-haired boy with a Spanish accent. Enjolras didn’t pay any attention, being engrossed in a new book his father gave him as a gift before departure. The monography of Vincent Duc de Trefle-Picques, a wizard who escaped the Reign of Terror by casting a Concealment Charm and pretending that his head was already cut off. Enjolras’ father certainly thought that it was educational. Enjolras started doubting his opinion from the very first page but it was a nice distraction from the hell around him.

“The new one?”

“Hm?”

Enjolras looked up from the book, trying to recognize the boy in front of him. He was taller than his peers, thin chestnut hair slicked back and square-framed glasses a bit down the bridge of his nose.

“Combeferre?” Enjolras took his chance to guess.

“Right you are,” the boy nodded approvingly and smiled at him.

“If not for glasses, I’d never guess,” Enjolras grinned widely.

The last time he’d seen his cousin was two years ago, at their great-grandmother’s memorial service. He had certainly changed a lot since then, but he still remembered their passionate and enthusiastic conversation about history books when they found themselves in the same corner of the table.

“So, a new book?” Combeferre smiled slightly, Enjolras turned the cover so Combeferre could see. “Hm, a good choice but rather controversial.”

“It’s not me who chose it,” Enjolras shrugged. “However-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as Jehan noticed Combeferre from the other side of the bench.

“Oh, I knew it! You’d find a friend faster than someone could pronounce Participation!”

Enjolras gave him an estranged look.

“It’s just Combeferre,” he shrugged but immediately came to his senses, looking up and slightly blushing. “I mean, not like you are irrelevant. I mean that we are already…”

“Calm down, Enjolras. No offense taken,” Combeferre grinned down at him and offered his hand to Jehan. “I am his second cousin, Combeferre, nice to meet you.”

“Cousin?” Jehan pursed his lips. “Enjolras, I’d never taken you for a traitor.”

“Excuse me?”

“I thought I was your one and only cousin! Favorite one!”

Enjolras’ brow arched as he was not entirely sure how to react. Jehan had never tended to be possessive, and the sudden outburst seemed to be confusing.

“Oh, come on! Joking,” Jehan chuckled. “Nice to meet you, cousin. Does it make us relatives too then?”

“Don’t think so, but who knows. All purebloods are related in one way or another,” Combeferre shrugged.

“What a nice family reunion,” the Spanish boy from behind Prouvaire’s back sarcastically interrupted. Enjolras turned to look him in the eye, and the boy offered him a sly smirk. “As I understand from your well-spoken and pretentious conversation, pureblood is like a royal in this world, es asi?”

Enjolras sharply exhaled. He expected this moment to happen, just didn’t think it would take place on the very first day.

“Not exactly royal,” he hummed. “Just well-known and rare.”

The stinging feeling filled his chest, he almost felt ashamed.

“And who am I then?” the boy raised his eyebrows, half-jokingly, half-interested.

“If you don’t mind me asking, do you have any known wizards in your family?” Combeferre inquired politely, coming to Enjolras’ rescue.

“Nope,” the boy grinned shaking his head. “It’s just another crazy trait of mine, I guess. My family thought that Fauchelevant guy was lunatic when he came to tell them I am going to be a wizard.”

“The Headmaster Fauchelevant,” Enjolras corrected him, looking down at his book.

“Then you are non-mag-born,” Combeferre nodded, while Enjolras was pretending to read his book again avoiding the conversation. Though he was still attentively listening.

“Pardon?”

“Non-mag, non-magique. That’s how we call people who are not capable of performing magic.”

Enjolras was eternally grateful that Combeferre took a burden to explain such a sensitive matter. Knowing himself Enjolras could probably butcher the conversation.

“And do all the purebloods look as fine as you?”

Enjolras almost skipped the phrase, but all boys suddenly fell silent, and he glared up. The Spanish boy’s eyes were locked on him causing an unsettling feeling to fill Enjolras’ lungs. He avoided the other’s gaze looking over his shoulder.

“Statistically speaking, no,” he managed to let out, tension rising inside him. “I am not exactly a pureblood either. And I am not fine-looking.”

“Who are you then?”

“You are being too intrusive for the stranger, who didn’t even introduce themselves,” Enjolras snapped.

“Well, it can be easily changed, can’t it?” the Spanish boy hummed. “Rene Grantaire, but folks usually call me R.”

“Well, Monsieur Grantaire. There is a lot about this world you don’t know about, and I am not ready to be your guide,” Enjolras huffed, immediately regretting his words but stubbornly not showing it. By his side Jehan let out a sigh, Combeferre furrowed his brows but kept silent. The whole scene was now completely awkward, Enjolras could feel it in the air. Well, it was not the first one and it would certainly not be the last.

Fortunately, the headmaster came to their rescue appearing in the doors and gathering everybody’s attention by letting lavender sparkles fly from his wand. Enjolras felt the gaze on himself but tried his best to ignore it giving his whole attention to the announcement.

The headmaster of Beauxbatons was probably in his sixties, broad-shouldered and wrinkled. He kept his hair short, and his face cleanly shaved. If he didn’t wear a long robe of white color with a deep lavender blue-trimmed pellegrina over his shoulders, Enjolras would never take him for the head of Academy.

“As some of you might already know, my name is the Headmaster Fauchelevant, and I warmly welcome you to the academy of witchcraft and wizardry, Beauxbatons!”

A few cheers came from the crowd of first years. Enjolras noticed that some of them were standing on the edge of the fountain’s basin, trying to get a better view.

“Our values and traditions are thoroughly protected here, but there is always a place for progress. I do not expect you to follow and accept every rule, but the least we are waiting from you is to respect them. Beauxbatons is a unique educational institution. We have students from all over Europe. France,” a small group cheered near Enjolras. “Spain,” a few students raised their fists in the air, including Grantaire who was now standing on the bench behind Prouvaire’s back. “Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, Portugal, and Switzerland.”

While the headmaster was naming the countries, students rooted for their own homelands by clapping or whistling, expressing their national pride.

“However,” Fauchelevant raised his hand calling to order. “I am relying on you to understand that there is no such thing as rivalry on the grounds of Beauxbatons. We all should carry the values of Unity, Equality, and Responsibility. Every year you will learn a new value. There are nine of them, each one for each year of you studying within these walls. Participation, Unity, Tolerance, Justice, Liberty, Compassion, Equality, Love, and Responsibility. Once you inherit a value, a colorful stripe will appear on the hem of your robe sleeves. You are not expected to have all of them, just those you consider the most important. There should be no discrimination either. Every person has their own reason not to believe in one value or another, and most of the time we are no judges to the other’s mind.”

Enjolras bit his lower lip.

He knew that very few people had gotten all nine of values in history, and each of them had a great influence on the wizarding world.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to live up to their example, it seemed to be a tremendously exhausting thing to do. Especially getting such values as Participation and Love — for him personally it was almost impossible. Veela couldn’t love, could they?

However, he could literally hear his mother’s words in his ears: “Your brother got all of them, and you are expected to follow his steps.” As though he was not just a boy, he was a trophy, a horse expected to win the race.

“Also, in the spirit of being united, we will not sort you into the houses as wizards do in America or Great Britain. We do not support the idea of being competitive and rival. Instead of it, you will be assigned a certain dormitory, where you will live for the next few years. Three for boys, and three for girls. The assignment is completely random, so do not search for any injustice or hidden meaning here.”

Fauchelevant squinted his eyes, looking over the sea of students as though he was expecting someone to confront him. Something about his gaze was both unsettling and soothing at the same time.

“I hope we’ll be assigned to different dorms, huh?” Jehan whispered, slightly nudging him.

“Tired of me already?” Enjolras hummed, still being engrossed in the headmaster’s speech and his own thoughts.

“Of course not! That’s just the way we both will get more friends and a Participation stripe at the end of the year.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. Jehan’s genuine excitement about being social was quite unnerving. It was understandable they both were raised quite isolated from the rest of the world. However, Enjolras grew into liking his calm life, with books by his side and silence as his best friend.

“As you say,” Enjolras nodded.

“Now please form a queue,” Fauchelevant ordered waving his wand. Enjolras just noticed that a small sack was laying by his feet, and now it flew into the air by Fauchelevant’s motion, its golden threads sparkling. “One by one you dip your hand into a bag and pull one badge out. It will show your dormitory and the room number. Please proceed.”

Excitedly students started retrieving their badges. The shorter the queue was getting, the noisier the yard was becoming as students shared their dorms’ names with their fellows and friends. All Enjolras could hear were excited shrieks or disappointed groans before the familiar voice appeared behind his back.

“Do these dorms have names or something?” Grantaire asked Jehan as they were patiently waiting their turn.

“Yeah, the famous wizards and witches. There is obviously one named after Nicholas Flamel, his statue is over there, in the fountain. He’s the patron of Beauxbatons and said to be immortal,” Grantaire let out a surprised “huh?” but Jehan ignored it proceeding excitedly. “The second one’s named after Pierre Bonaccord, the first Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. The notorious fellow. My father lived in that dorm and never stops talking about it. Being a member of ICW himself.”

“Mugwump? It’s like the main guy? Quite a family you have,” Grantaire noticed and Enjolras swore he could hear his eyes rolling. “And the third one?”

“Oh! The one I hope to get into. Malécrit! A playwright, who also was a Quidditch player. I like the way he combined these two things; he wrote a play about the first game of Quidditch in France!”

“Quidditch? What the heck is it?”

Suddenly Enjolras felt quite amused. He had never met a non-mag-born before, and the fact that their world could be seen not as cruel and dull as he used to perceive it intrigued him. Also, he regretted the fact he snapped at Grantaire, no matter that it was in the means of self-defense. He felt the urge to overhear a bit more, but it was his turn to dig into a bag. Combeferre was already examining his badge, smiling up at him reassuringly.

Enjolras bit his lower lip, inhaled, and put his hand inside the sack. There were more badges than seen. He tried to dig a little bit deeper and his arm disappeared right above the elbow. _An Expansion spell_ , he thought, _clever_. Finally, he grabbed one as felt a little bit warmer than others and pulled it out.

 _P_ _ierre Bonaccord, 412_ , the carving said. He was not sure how he needed to react. There was no prejudice or expectation regarding the dormitories. No competition or rivalry as the headmaster said. However, it was wildly believed that those living in Bonaccord were mostly pureblood and destined to find a better job. All male members of his family lived there at one moment of time or another.

“What do you have?” Combeferre smiled at him expectingly as he approached him. Jehan took his turn to choose the badge.

Enjolras pursed his lips, squeezing the metal in his hand.

“Bonaccord, 412.”

“Oh! Roommates,” Combeferre grinned, turning his badge for Enjolras to look at.

A wave of relief washed Enjolras’ doubts away as soon as he took a look. Being in the same room with his serene and unflappable cousin was more than just a gift. He could use some silent company at least in his own room.

“Well, I guess we just need to find out who’s the third.”

Jehan beamed brightly at them once he was assigned.

“Malécrit,” he proudly announced. “There’s nowhere you can be that isn’t where you are meant to be.”

“Huh,” Grantaire pronounced. “And here I was, thinking that I am not stuck with you, royal babies.”

Enjolras’s eyes widened at the prospect of having snarky Grantaire as his roommate. Combeferre smiled obviously being amused. Jehan excitedly moved closer to see what Grantaire got, and the second he acknowledged, his arm wrapped around the shorter boy’s shoulders.

“Don’t be grumpy, mon ami, it will be the best nine years of your life. Malécrit is for those who like to have fun.”

Enjolras hoped that his relieved sigh wasn’t too loud.

“We are not assigned based on our personality traits, you know?” Combeferre commented.

“Tell me,” Prouvaire huffed. “You and Enjolras are definitely Bonaccord, and you cannot prove me wrong.”

“Leave it,” Enjolras said quietly so only Combeferre could hear him. “He is impossible to argue with.”

Combeferre adjusted his glasses and offered him a smile one more time. Enjolras smirked but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Bonaccords! Young Bonaccords, right here!” the booming voice of an older student who was standing at the foot of the stairs raised upon the noisy hall.

“Shall we?”

“Definitely,” Enjolras nodded and Combeferre waved his wand to levitate both of their trunks beside them.

“Show-offs,” Grantaire snorted out in disbelief, but if Combeferre heard him he pretended not to. Enjolras furrowed, casting a quick look at the boy.

“See you at the dinner, Jehan,” he said coldly.

“See you,” Prouvaire obliviously waved him away returning to his conversation with yet another boy.

***

Once they followed their prefect to the Bonaccord dormitory through the labyrinth of corridors, they found out that it was situated outside of the main palace. And Enjolras even felt a bit resentful about it, since the palace interior was magnificent. With golden panels, tall ornated mirrors, plushy rugs, and comfy chairs along the corridors. He’d seen a lot of pictures from his parents’ school years and in the History of Beauxbatons folio, but he couldn’t help himself but stare around. Also, despite the autumn and mountains, it was warm inside, probably from some magical heating system. He heard that it was uncommon in other wizarding schools, even in those situated at North.

“Since there are more than 2,500 students, it’s impossible to accommodate all of them inside the palace. It was meant for less than a thousand. Some of the senior students even live outside the palace ground, in the village behind the mountain. Every morning they come here by Floo Powder,” the tall Italian-looking prefect told them. His name was Marcelli as they learned.

“Wow! It must be cool. They are practically adults and can do all they want when they are out of lessons, not obeying the rules, right?” the shorter boy bounced in front of Enjolras and Combeferre, his duffel bag sometimes banged them into the knees. He was extremely agile and couldn’t stop his fingers from playing with a hem of his sleeve, or his curls, or the strap of the duffel bag.

“You must obey the rules at all times,” Marcelli replied solemnly, with a serious look, but once they stepped out into the inner yard, he bowed and whispered to the few students. “But if you want to know how to disobey them with flying colors, I am the guy you should come to,” he grinned with a wink. Enjolras felt the urge to ask him if he knew he was supposed to be a Prefect but suppressed it.

“Here we are, six mighty dorms of Beauxbatons,” Marcelli opened his arms wide like the master of ceremonies, and a choir of gasps filled the air.

Six four-floored mansions and a palace formed a perfect square with yet another enormous fountain in the middle. Apparently, it was a thing with Beauxbatons to be majestic and regal. Walking paths were covered with fine gravel and along with them, high chestnut trees with branches spreading wide were growing. And it was overcrowded, packed with students of all ages. Some lying lazily on the lawn using their robes as a blanket. Some occupying benches with their legs folded under. Some even playing gobstones right in the middle of the side path.

“Girls’ dormitories on your left — named after Lisette de Lapin, Amelie Delacour and Celeste Malfoy. Boys on your right — Nicholas Flamel, Pierre Bonaccord, and Malecrit. Ours is in the middle on the right. Come on, I am hungry as a werewolf and don’t want to miss the Grand Dinner because of you boys!”

Others followed Marcelli’s lead while Enjolras was staying behind absorbing a wild picture in front of him. He felt others’ looks on himself, a few girls whispering and casting quick glances. Might it have been a mistake? Should he have stayed at the comfort of his own home? Even with all those rules and values which he did not share with his family. With his mother’s deadly glares and his father’s constant desire to make a proper Enjolras out of him? It would have been much easier.

Enjolras shook his head. He was never a coward. Tense sometimes and not so outgoing as Jehan, but not a coward. He could handle whatever was coming his way, whatever challenge he was supposed to endure. He could do it.


	2. 1961 — ABOUT WANDS AND BLOTS

“I am sure he will be no trouble,” Combeferre was sitting beside Enjolras on his bed leaning to the wall as they both were watching their third roommate unpacking his trunk.

His name was Courfeyrac as they found out, and it was the same bouncy boy who asked their Prefect if seniors should obey the Academy rules outside of the palace’s grounds. He noticed their gazes on him and offered them a wide smile.

“Aren’t you going to unpack? Marcelli said he was waiting for us for ten more minutes and then we’ll have to locate the Dining Hall ourselves. Not my cup of potion to be lost on the very first day,” he grinned retrieving his dark mahogany wand from the trunk and caressing it lovingly.

Enjolras followed his gesture with his eyes, biting his lower lip. His own wand was still hidden deep under the pile of clothes, and at the moment he was fighting himself to ask Combeferre for a way to order another one.

“We know the location. Anyone who would read History of Beauxbatons knows it,” Enjolras answered a bit snappily again. His own problems and thoughts definitely didn’t do him a favor to be less socially awkward.

“Not everyone had the opportunity to do it, Enjolras,” Combeferre noticed, his voice soft but sober.

“Oh,” Enjolras mentally smacked himself. “Right, forgive me.”

“Nah,” Courfeyrac waved away. “I read it, it was a gift from my father once I got my letter but anyway, I am not good at finding my way around new places,” he shrugged.

“We can walk together,” Combeferre kindly offered.

“Can we?” Enjolras asked him quietly.

A sting of jealousy pierced his mind. Once they were accommodated together, he had a slight hope that Combeferre would be his companion in being distant, that having him by his side would mean he didn’t need to communicate more than necessary. He did realize it was foolish of him though. Of course, Combeferre wouldn’t want to stick with Enjolras. He probably wanted to participate and find new friends as well as Jehan.

“Oh! It’d be wonderful! I am only one day away from home but already missing good company. Have four brothers and two sisters, you know? Allergic to silence, huh,” Courfeyrac unpacked his books plopping them on a nightstand, and clapped, visibly satisfied with his work.

There was no such thing with Courfeyrac as ''undersharing'', Enjolras thought. Only two phrases and he seemed to know more about his new roommate than about Combeferre who was his cousin. No trouble? Hardly.

They left their dorm right away. Enjolras decided against unpacking, he could do it later when his roommates would be fast asleep. Surely, they would see some of his belongings in the future, but he wanted to buy some time, just to feel as normal as others for a moment. He knew the attitude to the rich and pureblood in the world, his mother told him about being careful last night.

_“Just remember that we are the best in this world, Andrè. And a lot of people would be ready to give their life just to live one day like us. Be proud of your heritage but don’t let anyone tell you that you do not belong. You have the birthright to this world, much more than any traitor or non-mag.”_

Yet, she made sure to buy him the best things as though she was showing off her wealth through Enjolras. It was confusing, yet he felt betrayed.

“My mom was shocked when my letter came, y’know?” Courfeyrac was still chatting. It seemed he didn’t even care if someone actually listened. “My father didn’t though. We found out he was a wizard only because I turned out to be one. That’s so cool! Is this true that the choir of wood nymphs is singing while we're eating?”

“Wood nymphs are not your entertainment,” Enjolras snapped immediately, his teeth clenched. “They are too independent creatures to be there just for your own pleasure.”

Courfeyrac stumbled, a confused look on his cheerful face.

“I am sorry if I said something wrong…” he said falling quiet.

Combeferre scratched the tip of his nose.

“It’s okay, Courfeyrac. You don’t know a lot about our world. And there is no shame in it,” he answered with a soothing voice as though explaining something obvious to a child but gave Enjolras a hard look.

“Fine,” Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Just be careful about what you are saying. There is a lot of creatures in our world you do not want to offend.”

Courfeyrac nodded shortly and didn’t say another word while they were walking towards the Grand Hall.

The Grand Hall was even more gigantic than Enjolras remembered. However, it was even more stunning too. As they passed through the doors, Enjolras took a moment to get used to a picture in front of him. And two boys beside him seemed to agree. It was not a regular dining room; they were in a forest. The walls were seemingly made out of tree trunks, carved with ancient runes. The tree crowns and branches were spreading across the hall, meeting in the middle, a bit of sky showing above them. Right now, it was dusk, and the last sun rays were peering through the leaves, lighting the room up with red and yellow undertones. Dining tables were making a perfect circle, in the middle of it stood another fountain which was smaller than in the main yard but not less magnificent, sun rays making the water sparkle. Most students were already there, but their large, ornamented plates were still empty.

“I’ve read all those stories about Beauxbatons, but I’ve never imagined it to be an actual fairytale,” whispered Courfeyrac, and Enjolras was ready to agree with him on this one.

“Let’s find our seats,” Combeferre offered casually.

“Are they assigned, or we can sit anywhere we want?” Courfeyrac carefully asked, casting a quick look at Enjolras. And the latter felt unease. He seemed to be the master of making people feel awkward around him.

“I believe it’s utterly our choice,” Enjolras answered trying to copy Combeferre’s soothing manner, but it sounded weird even to himself.

“Enjolras!”

A high-pitched voice called him, and he turned around to see his cousin Jehan waving at him and pointing at the three empty chairs beside him. On the other side sat Grantaire. And after a few quick moments of considering, Enjolras waved back.

“Let’s go to sit there,” he suggested and headed towards his cousin being followed by his new roommates.

“Hey! Your pace of finding new friends is marvelous!” Jehan exclaimed once everyone occupied their places. “Hey, I am Jean Prouvaire, Jehan for family and friends,” the ginger boy introduced himself to Courfeyrac and their hands met in a handshake right in front of Enjolras which caused him to lean back a bit.

“Lucien Courfeyrac but was known as Courf at my last school.”

“Finally, someone who went to the normal school and wasn’t home-trained as my _lovely_ roommate here,” Grantaire chuckled offering his hand too. “Grantaire or R for short.”

“Quite clever,” Combeferre hummed.

Enjolras was feeling right in the middle of the action, and it was not his favorite spot any day. Everyone was chatting loudly, chuckling, and sharing their experiences. Ten minutes into their dinner, and they all seemed to be good friends, who just met after a few years away. He otherwise would prefer to just eat and return to their room, to hide behind heavy curtains, to perform _Lumos_ and to dive into his book once again.

Just to distract himself from loud noise, he concentrated on the fountain. Its flowing water was a soothing sight, it was calm and indifferent. Didn’t matter what was going around, it was its own element. Only watching it helped Enjolras to dissociate from the surroundings.

He imagined himself being in a forest, maybe the one by the foot of mountains that protected Beauxbatons from the outer world. He was alone, only crickets and the sound of a nearby river. He was sitting on a big rock touching moss under his fingers. His bare feet were sliding through the wet grass…

“Hey, are you alright?”

A light pat on his shoulder yanked him out of his daydream. The loud sound of laughter and conversations returned as a tidal wave. He absent-mindedly ran his fingers through the blond curls and looked at his intruder. It was Jehan. He took a moment to focus his eyes and nodded.

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“You missed the headmaster’s greeting, I believe. Now we are eating,” his cousin was almost whispering, his breath right on Enjolras’ neck. As he was always doing after family gatherings had turned into the loud arguments and Enjolras’s desire to leave would be so overwhelming he would just turn off his senses sinking into his own world.

Enjolras nodded looking over the feast that magically appeared in front of him. As he was filling his plate with potatoes dauphinoise, he heard Grantaire’s voice over others.

“Is everything okay with him? Seems to be out of this world.”

Jehan just waved his hand nodding and pretended to be distracted by a tasty quiche in front of him. Enjolras felt grateful.

On his other side, a noisy discussion of Quidditch was happening. A wide-shouldered boy near Combeferre was talking to Courfeyrac over his head, however, Enjolras’s cousin seemed not to pay any attention, just eating calmly.

“And then… BOOM! The bladger crashes into his head knocking him down his broom, and RIGHT AT THE MOMENT… I’m telling you, RIGHT AWAY their Keeper catches a snitch, and the game is over!” the boy let out an annoyed growl and shook his head.

“Sounds cooler than a football!” Courfeyrac beamed still being mesmerized by another boy’s story. “So, when are the try-outs?”

“Oh no, only students of the fourth year and older can be on the team. They consider it too dangerous for younger ones to play. Sorry, bud.”

Enjolras heard Courfeyrac sighing, but then…

“We’ll see about it. If I am not the youngest one there, I will eat my own wand,” Courfeyrac whispered. Enjolras arched his brow at him but the other boy just gave him a wink.

“You were pretty out of action there,” Combeferre carefully commented while they were walking back to their dorms. “What happened?”

Others were a few steps away from them and too engrossed in their own conversation to overhear.

“It happens,” Enjolras shrugged. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre adjusted his glasses clearly thinking over the next words. “We are not too close, despite us being relatives. However, I know how it feels. So, you can come to me anytime, right? Since Jehan is not going to be always there for…”

“I am fine, Combeferre,” Enjolras insisted. He was not ready for that kind of conversation yet.

“Alright. Just remember.”

They walked the rest of their way in silence.

The next day started too early for Enjolras’ liking. He was never known for sleeping long in the mornings, but last night he could barely sleep. The first actual day at school was far more terrifying than expected. Even the thought of him to attend a class with his best quality quills, fine ink bottles, and a pretentious rosewood wand… He felt nauseous just imagining it.

“Good morning! Good morning! It’s so nice to have you here with me today,” Courfeyrac’s singing voice was heard from their shared bathroom, and Enjolras once more wondered how the boy could be so merry and bright all the time.

He yanked the curtains to the sides and sat on the bed trying to wake up. Hiding his face into the palms for a few moments helped and he got up, yawning.

“I think we got ourselves a perfect alarm clock, didn’t we?” Combeferre smirked. He was already ready, sitting on his bed in his lavender robe and a book in his hands.

“Is it a good thing though?” Enjolras huffed. He was especially grumpy when deprived of sleep but right now didn’t care.

“I got your school bag ready for you since you didn’t unpack yesterday,” Combeferre informed. Enjolras froze in his place. He slowly turned to look at his cousin who casually returned to reading, but when the latter noticed that he was being watched, he arched his brow with a surprise.

“I helped him!” Courfeyrac cheerfully announced walking out of the bathroom with a towel over his shoulder and a toothbrush in the other hand.

“Wh- What for?” Enjolras stuttered, sitting back on his bed looking between his two roommates. He was ready for the earth to part and for himself to fall into its depths. “They are my belongings, why are you…”

“Chill out, mate!” Courfeyrac raised his hands in a defensive manner. “We just wanted to help!”

Nausea filled Enjolras’ head and he inhaled deeply before anything worse could happen. He should have stopped a tide that was filling him rapidly before it got out of control. But he wasn’t quick enough, a toothbrush in Courfeyrac’s hand broke in half, and the curly-haired boy threw it on the floor as though it was poisonous.

“What the…”

“Enjolras, calm down,” Combeferre immediately jumped out of his bed and kneeled down in front of the blonde boy, taking his hands into his. “Calm down.” The second time he said it reassuringly, without any bit of panic in his voice. His thumb sliding over Enjolras’s knuckles, his hazel eyes pacifying Enjolras’s agitation.

A few heavy minutes passed before Enjolras could tame his anger. He made a few rows of deep breathes as his routine, not without his cousin’s help. Though he wondered why Combeferre even knew what to do… And when felt better, he turned to Courfeyrac who was watching the whole scene leaning to the column of his bed frame.

“Sorry, shouldn’t have.”

“It’s alright, mate. Care to share?”

Enjolras bit his lower lip, rubbing along his nose with the tips of his fingers.

“Just anger issues. Nothing more. I am sorry. Thanks for…” he waved his hand at his school bag.

“It’s nothing. By the way, your wand is to die for! What is it made of?”

“Rosewood. And the hair of… unicorn.”

“Sick! I wish I had one of those. Really cool.”

Enjolras couldn’t believe himself but his lips actually turned into a grateful smile.

“Don’t even worry. I cannot control my magic too, yet” Courfeyrac assured Enjolras as they were walking through the crowd, trying to find their classroom. Professor Valjean’s Transfiguration class was said to be situated somewhere on the fifth floor of the Western wing, but the stairs to it were nowhere to be seen.

As Combeferre disappeared to ask an older student for help, Courfeyrac decided to talk Enjolras through the morning incident.

“Once I was left to look after my younger siblings. My older sister left for a date, my older brother for a Barcelona-Madrid derby, and my parents… Doesn’t matter though,” he waved his hand. “So, here am I. Three brothers and a sister. All wanting to eat… not to just eat, EAT! And all I have is a frozen lasagna and some milk in the fridge. I am 8 years old, so I know no heck about doing a lasagna, so decided to…”

“I found a person who would show us the way to Transfiguration!” Combeferre interrupted Courfeyrac’s story, and Enjolras hoped that nobody heard an audible sound of relief from his lips.

The second day of knowing his roommate, and he did think that Courfeyrac was irritating by no means but after the incident, he started seeing that the curly-haired boy meant no harm. He was an oversharing chatterbox, but the way he reacted to Enjolras’s sudden outburst was made him trust the boy. To a certain extent, of course. Enjolras didn’t think he could ever trust anyone, except Jehan, maybe. And he wouldn’t get used to his lengthy tirades any time soon, for sure.

“You ruined my story, Monsieur Ferre!” Courfeyrac pouted. Combeferre arched his eyebrow questioningly and adjusted his glasses.

“Ferre?”

“Why not? It’s quite a mouthful to pronounce your name. And Enjolras can be…”

“Enjolras,” the blond-haired boy said before anything could fly from Courfeyrac’s mouth.

“Okay, Messieurs Ferre, Courf and Enjolras,” said an older student who volunteered to help them. “Let’s go ahead or Valjean will give you a detention faster than you all can pronounce your own names.”

They all agreed chuckling and followed the student.

“And what’s your name?” Courfeyrac asked while they were climbing the stairs.

“Feuilly,” the red-haired student introduced himself.

Enjolras looked at him intently, and something clicked inside his head.

“Are you from Malecrit?” he asked.

“Yes, indeed. How d’you know?”

“I saw you talking to his portrait the other day.”

“Oh yes, always a pleasure to have a conversation with an old man. He has some hilarious stories to tell every year!”

Feuilly smiled fondly as though he was telling about his best friend.

“So, did he really transfigure his own wife into a broom once?” Combeferre inquired politely.

“Hah, he bets he did, but as the old story says it was actually the other way round,” Feuilly smirked as they climbed the last stair. “Here we are, gentlemen. Valjean’s lesson starts in one minute. So, you better hurry! Nice to meet you lot. See ya ‘round!”

And with those words, Feuilly started running down the stairs leaving three boys alone in front of the heavy wooden door.

“Ready?” Courfeyrac whispered, and as he got two nods, he pushed the door letting them inside.

A spacious auditorium, for a change in this palace, looked pretty simple. Like any other auditorium, as Enjolras would believe since he had never been in one before. Yet, it was designed as Roman amphitheater — a row of desks forming a semi-circle, and around a hundred first-year students were already sitting there, anticipating their first lesson. However, there was nothing common with ornated mirrors, wall panels made of redwood, or plushy carpets. The only resemblance was extremely high ceilings and tall windows at the first level.

“How are we supposed to learn anything here?” Combeferre sounded puzzled and irritated. He must have been speaking about a number of students, judging by his watchful eyes examining every face behind the desks. Enjolras gave him a surprised look, it was probably the first time he heard Combeferre being annoyed.

“Quite a lot of people, agreed,” Enjolras answered trying to find his ginger-haired cousin among the sea of heads. He tried to hide the relief he felt. If there were so many of them in one class, it would be much easier not to draw any attention.

“More chance to cheat,” winked Courfeyrac, and both boys turned to look at him with arched eyebrows. “Just kidding. With you two I’d never dare,” he scoffed.

“Sonorus!”

They heard a voice behind them, and Enjolras looked at the tall dark-haired man walking into the room and holding the point of his wand to his throat. He was not wearing the professor’s robe as others Enjolras could see in the corridors, just a tight vest of burgundy color and old-fashioned high-waisted black trousers.

“Take your places, please!” the professor announced with a much louder voice, and three boys found nothing better than to occupy the desk in a front row, the only available one at this point.

“I am glad to welcome you to the first Transfiguration class in your life. My name is Monsieur Valjean,” the wizard waved his wand and his name appeared on a desk behind, in a pretty cursive hand-writing. “And I have only three rules here. First, no cheating,” he pointedly looked at Courfeyrac who nodded solemnly though Enjolras could see his roommate’s fingers crossed. “Second, no interrupting. There’s a lot of you here, and we need to respect the other’s opinion in order to form our own. Third,” his gaze found Enjolras, and then roamed somewhere higher, to the place where Jehan was sitting. “No discrimination among us. I don’t care about your intentions and battles outside of this class, but if I see anyone not tolerating those surrounding them, you will be excluded from my class. That means you will not be able to pass the final exam and go for the second year. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” a choir of voices answered simultaneously.

“Good, now let’s start with an easy task. Take your wands.” 

Around twenty minutes into the lesson, and Enjolras relaxed. He definitely liked their routine. Today they were going to turn a toothpick into a needle. By far no one had done it. Even Combeferre whose toothpick had already been colored silver.

Enjolras should have done it. He knew it. He furrowed his brows vigorously staring at the toothpick as though it would make the small piece of wood fear and obey his brainpower.

“You just broke my toothbrush,” Courfeyrac whispered. “It shouldn’t be so hard for you here.”

“In order for me to do something, I should be really angry or scared,” Enjolras mumbled under his breath waving his wand again and again. “I am not capable of wandless magic, you know?”

Of course, he was. Every veela or those closely related to them could perform wandless magic. It was their secret, nobody outside their tight circle should have known it, and he wasn’t going to share it with any of his new acquaintances. _Fit in,_ he thought, _you just need to fit in._

Once he focused enough and was ready to wave his wand feeling lucky this time, his motion was rudely interrupted by loud “ _psst_ ”. Enjolras tried to ignore it, foolishly thinking it was not targeted at him, however…

“Psst, pure-blood! Enjolras!”

He shuddered and slowly turned his head to see the intruder.

“What’s up with a wand?”

Grantaire who was sitting a few students away, in a higher row, smugly smiled at the blond-haired boy, raising his eyebrow.

“Not your business,” Enjolras snapped, feeling a tidal wave again. Combeferre beside him seemed worried and turned around too.

“What did Professor Valjean say?”

“What? Just wondering. Jehan has a plain one. Why is Enjolras’s so posh, hm?”

Enjolras gritted his teeth, clutching to his wand with all his strength. He turned away just to hide a few salty drops forming in his eyes. He concentrated on the toothpick just to distract himself. And…

“Look, everyone! Monsieur…”

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac hinted.

“Monsieur Enjolras,” Valjean nodded gratefully, “did a great job!”

He picked up the needle right in front of Enjolras showing it to the rest of the class. Combeferre smiled at him, patting his shoulder. A few lazy claps echoed through the auditorium. Though Enjolras felt grievous. He would give anything to avoid attention, but it seemed to find him every time.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Combeferre offered when they left their first class and headed towards the Potions. “It seems like his only goal is to annoy.”

“He’s insufferable. From the very first minute. I just don’t understand why Jehan supports him.”

“I don’t.”

Jehan caught up to them, adjusting the strap of his school bag.

“I am sorry. On his behalf. He’s still getting used to this world, and…”

“Don’t justify him!” Enjolras exclaimed. “He’s just a bully. People who are trying to find their way in new places are not choosing bullying as their instrument. I can’t believe you, Jehan. You of all people are on his side.”

Enjolras huffed being furious and sped up leaving Jehan and Combeferre behind him before they could say another word to him. All he wanted now was to be left alone. In the next class, he chose the backseat, with only Combeferre joining him.

The first two weeks were a complete mess of finding their way around the castle and school life in general. Beauxbatons’ professors seemed not to realize that they were just first-years. From day one they had a long list of assignments. Enjolras could barely sleep trying to catch up. Combeferre supported his eagerness not to fall behind. However, others seemed to be pretty care-free. Their common room and inner yard were full of first-years just playing gobstones, non-mag card games, and chess. Enjolras just couldn’t understand their attitude.

On Sunday Enjolras was sitting in his armchair writing an essay on the magical properties of valerian root for his Potions class. Combeferre headed out to find some books for their Defence Against the Dark Arts class’ project which Professor Javert assigned for the next Thursday, and Enjolras couldn’t feel less fit in the atmosphere than now.

Only the older students were as engrossed in their homework as he was. His fellow first years were just joking around, launching paper airplanes to fly around the room, and chatting loudly.

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac appeared in front of him out of thin air and plopped on the arm of his chair, with a cheerful wide smile on his face.

“What? Finally decided to do some homework?” Enjolras didn’t stop scribbling, sinking his quill into ink.

“Nah, I’m done with it. Devoted two hours yesterday, and not gonna lose more time.”

“How are you even…” Enjolras let out an exasperated sigh. His carelessness cost him a big black blot on his perfectly clean lavender robe, and he sadly looked at it to grow bigger. Courfeyrac barely did anything for his grades to be decent, but yet he was probably the best at their year so far. It had been frustrating.

“Listen,” Courfeyrac leaned to him closer, looking around as a spy. “Have you ever played Quidditch?”

“Well… a bit, yeah. I am not the best with brooms and quaffles but it’s inevitable in our world,” Enjolras shrugged, taking out his wand and making the spot disappear. “Why would you ask?”

“I’m gonna tell you a secret but you can’t share it with Ferre, alright?”

Enjolras narrowed his eyes finally looking up.

“Don’t tell me…”

“Yeah!” Courfeyrac beamed. “You gotta teach me. Explain all those rules, and maybe…”

“No,” Enjolras declined firmly. “It’s highly dangerous and will certainly break quite a few rules.”

“Okay…” Courfeyrac drawled. “Then I’m not gonna keep your secret either.”

“What secret?” Enjolras’s spine straightened, his gaze piercing Courfeyrac’s eyes, with devil’s sparks in them.

“Your wand. It doesn’t have a unicorn hair as its core.”

“How do you… What?!”

“Figured out it yesterday,” Courfeyrac smirked. “You are cousins with Jehan, right? Have the same hair except for color, the same eyes. His wand has veela’s hair, his grandmother’s. He told me. So…”

Enjolras let out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes tight and rubbing them with fingertips. He wasn’t on best terms with his cousin after that conversation about Grantaire in the corridor. They barely said a few words to each other since then. But Enjolras couldn’t believe Jehan would decide to share such sensitive information without discussing it with him first.

“You are blackmailing me.”

“Right I am,” Courfeyrac hummed.

“Why?”

“Because I know you’ll keep my secret, even without me keeping yours. You seem trustworthy. More than Combeferre with his righteous attitude. You might not like me on the surface, but you tolerate my temper.”

“You chose the wrong guy, Courf,” Enjolras shook his head. “I am not keen on Quidditch much, seriously.”

“You don’t need to! Just explain it to me! Flying lessons are weeks away, but try-outs are gonna be at the end of the month. Pleeeease?” Courfeyrac looked at him with his puppy eyes. Enjolras hated him for doing this, but something inside cracked. There were not many people at this school who would call him trust-worthy and accept him being veela so easily. So, he gave in.

“Okay, but we need to do it very carefully. If Headmaster Fauchelevant finds out, we’ll be much surely expelled.”

“I knew it! You are the best, Enj,” Courf jumped from his seat, wrapping his arms around Enjolras’ shoulders, causing his essay to be crumbled.

“Enjolras. My name is Enjolras,” he answered strictly, straightening the parchment, but a small smile touched his lips as he watched Courfeyrac bouncing away.


End file.
